The Whole to Own
by Scattered Logic
Summary: Promises can bind in ways never imagined. HBP compliant, HGSS friendship, preHGSS


_All Faith is false, all Faith is true:  
Truth is the shattered mirror strown  
In myriad bits; while each believes  
His little bit the whole to own._

_"Stanzas from the Kasidah"  
--Richard Francis Burton_

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Early morning fog muffled the sound of hexes and curses and swirled around Severus Snape as he wove through the battlefield. Each step shifted the mist to reveal patchwork glimpses of carnage. Water droplets pearled on crumpled bodies, and blood splattered the ground, tinting the mud underfoot the colour of rust.

He'd been instructed to attack from behind to drive the Order of the Phoenix forward to be slaughtered. Instead, he was fulfilling a long-ago promise to Albus Dumbledore and using the confusion of battle to obstruct his fellow Death Eaters.

The Order members were holding their own, but they'd taken losses. Severus had literally stumbled over Alastor Moody's body lying in a pool of blood. Even slashed half open, the old bastard had gone down fighting, his wand still clutched in his hand. He'd managed to take Mulciber and Dolohov with him; their corpses lay only a few feet away. But it was the sight of Minerva McGonagall's body, left staring sightlessly up in the mud, that had saddened him most. Even though Minerva had often been at odds with him over their Head of House duties, Severus had considered her a friend, and she'd deserved far better than this.

The fog slowly began to dissipate and he scanned the remaining combatants, searching for Harry Potter. He found him flanked by Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. The two friends frantically cast protective spells to shield Potter and to allow him to advance unimpeded, but Granger and Weasley had suffered for their loyalty; both were bruised and bleeding.

Severus worked his way to the edges of the battle, keeping a close watch for both Order members and Death Eaters alike. His situation was extremely precarious and for the first time in years, he was grateful to be wearing a mask. While the Order considered any Death Eater a target, he suspected that some wouldn't hesitate to kill him on sight. But if he revealed himself as assisting the Order and the Dark Lord survived, Severus' life would be forfeit. Potter had escaped too many battles to be certain this was their last confrontation. Severus was prepared to openly help Potter only if it was clear the boy was about to die.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord glided out of the ragged remains of the mist. At his side were Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback. Wormtail scuttled along behind, nervously rubbing at his silver hand.

Potter charged forward and at a wordless gesture from the Dark Lord, Greyback attacked Granger and Weasley. They worked furiously to keep Greyback at bay while Bellatrix ignored them and focused on Potter. Her first hexes bounced off his shielding spells, but she finally found an opening and cut a slash across his chest. Potter staggered back and Bellatrix cackled with manic glee.

The Dark Lord watched with a look of deep satisfaction on his face as Potter and Bellatrix fought, and Severus ground his teeth. Where were the other Order members? It was apparent that the Dark Lord planned for Bellatrix wear Potter down, then step in and finish the boy off with minimal effort.

Potter threw up another shield and screamed, "You owe me."

Severus frowned in confusion until Wormtail shook his head frantically and backed away. Potter was attempting to call in the life debt due to him.

The Dark Lord laughed when Wormtail refused, and Bellatrix struck again. This time, Potter stumbled and fell. His shield still held, but it was weakening.

Potter lay on the ground, his back to his attackers, but from Severus' vantage point, he could see the boy's face clearly. Potter touched his chest and winced, his hand coming away covered in blood. He bared his teeth in frustration and pushed himself to his feet.

His hand still dripping blood, Potter pointed directly at Wormtail. "Peter Pettigrew," he snarled, "you betrayed my parents and I saved your life. You bastard, you _owe_ me."

Bellatrix laughed. "He's not going to help you, boy. No one's going to help you." She lashed out with another curse, and Potter barely had a shield cast in time to avoid it.

Still hiding behind the Dark Lord, Wormtail abruptly stiffened and convulsed.

Severus frowned, then his eyes widened as he did a rapid calculation. Potter didn't even seem to realise what he'd done. There'd been no formal invocation, but all the necessary ingredients were in place: blood, the naming of the debtor, and the demand for payment. Crude, yes, but blood magic required nothing more.

Notoriously unstable, blood magic lacked finesse, and the compulsion it created was just as inelegant. Similar to the Imperius Curse, but with no candy floss bliss or pretty desire to comply, there was only the bone-grinding geis born of a blood debt owed.

As Severus watched, Wormtail lifted his wand inch by trembling inch.

The Dark Lord's gaze was fixed on Potter and Bellatrix, but Wormtail's eyes were wild with terror and disbelief. Still struggling against the compulsion, Wormtail blasted Bellatrix away from Potter. Thrown high into the air, she hit the ground in a crumpled tangle of limbs and lay unmoving.

The Dark Lord whirled toward Wormtail. Released from the geis, the terrified man flung himself into the mud, gibbering for forgiveness, but the Dark Lord was furious. Wormtail died an instant later, begging for his life.

Granger and Weasley still fought Greyback, but they'd managed to turn the tide. Greyback was fighting defensively now, blocking far more spells than he was casting and losing ground as they pushed him back.

The Dark Lord turned to face Potter.

Severus moved forward, determined to have a clear view of their confrontation when he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He was already shielding as Bill Weasley fired off an _Expelliarmus_.

The two men duelled, spells flying thick through the air as each sought an advantage, but a sudden shout went up, and Severus glanced over to see Potter -- weak and bloody, but clearly triumphant -- standing over the fallen Dark Lord. Weasley was dancing in place and grinning like a madman. Potter said something softly, and Granger laughed. Then Weasley yanked the girl into his arms to kiss her soundly.

That moment of distraction cost Severus dearly. Bill's _Incarcerous_ struck him hard in the chest, and magical ropes wrapped around his body. Severus fell just as the deafening crack of multiple Apparations echoed through the air.

Aurors wearing the black-trimmed robes of Hit Wizards ringed the battlefield. Without a word, they began to Stupefy anyone left standing. Order members and Death Eaters alike fell under their wands and a brief cry of objection went up from Arthur Weasley before he, too, was Stunned. Granger and Weasley went down together, blindsided by Aurors who stepped from a copse of trees.

Bill Weasley was Stupefied even as he shouted that it wasn't necessary, and Severus winced as Bill fell across his legs.

Severus could see Potter shake his head, arguing with an Auror who never lowered his wand. A flash of green enveloped the Auror from behind and already dead, the man pitched forward to reveal a wild-eyed Bellatrix, her wand levelled at Potter.

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and her left arm dangled uselessly, but her wand was grasped firmly in her right hand and hatred blazed in her eyes.

"No," Severus shouted as he struggled against his bonds, but he couldn't break free. He watched, helpless, as Potter's wand snapped up, but it was a split second too late to stop Bellatrix. There was a blinding flash of emerald green, and Harry Potter was dead.

A small group of Aurors descended on Bellatrix until she was finally Stupefied and bound.

Severus dropped his head back, exhausted. A short time later, an Auror checked Bill Weasley's pulse to confirm that he was still alive, then rolled him aside. The man knelt beside Severus and lifted the mask from his face. The Auror's eyes narrowed as he recognised him, and he nodded once sharply.

"Severus Snape, you're under arrest for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

------------------------------

Severus ignored the cold and dirt and focused on the grimy blanket folded neatly on his bed. Thin fingers unconsciously twitched as he concentrated, willing the blanket to float. He wasn't surprised that it remained unmoving; he knew he had little chance of performing magic without a wand, but it helped to pass the time. What else was there to do in Azkaban? It was certainly preferable to dwelling on the monotonous days crawling by.

His attention shifted to the metallic clank of the lock opening down the hall, and he pushed himself to his feet, unconsciously drawing his filthy robes around him in a gesture familiar to a generation of schoolchildren.

Severus watched through the bars as the guard, a former Hufflepuff named Crilley, entered the hallway. Severus concealed his surprise when Percy Weasley followed Crilley into the dank corridor. He hadn't seen Weasley in five months, not since the day that Rufus Scrimgeour had ordered Severus into Azkaban without a trial.

From that little the guards had let slip, Severus had determined that all of the captured Death Eaters were imprisoned in Azkaban, each held in a different isolated section of the prison. They were kept far away from lesser prisoners, but more importantly, far away from each other.

The pair stopped at his cell, and Weasley smoothed down his own pristine robes while Crilley unlocked the cell. The door swung open and, nose in the air, Percy marched inside and glanced back at Crilley.

"You may leave," Weasley said.

Crilley's eyebrows shot up. "The Warden didn't say nothing about—"

"I'm here on behalf of Minister Scrimgeour and I'll speak to the prisoner alone," Weasley interrupted.

Crilley looked shocked. "Alone? You know what he is." He jerked his head toward Severus. "If I leave, I'll have to lock you in with him."

"I understand," Weasley said, unperturbed.

"But don't you want me to wait--" Crilley began.

"I'll call when I'm ready to leave." Weasley's officious tone rang through the narrow corridor.

Crilley stared in disbelief. "So be it," he said slowly, "but if anything happens, it's on your head."

At that, Weasley gave a tiny smile. "Yes, I expect so."

That faint smile remained until Crilley had slammed the door shut, locked it, and stomped down the corridor, muttering about rules and regulations and high-handed Ministry officials.

The instant they were alone, Weasley's smile vanished. He removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and held them out to Severus. "Put these on, please."

"Why?" Severus affected a bored tone. "What do you want?"

"First look through the glasses." Weasley continued to hold out the spectacles.

"My vision is adequate," Severus said. One pale hand swept out to encompass the cold stone walls of his cell. "And if it wasn't, why would I want to see any of this -– or you -– more clearly?"

"Because things aren't always as they seem." Weasley's voice was suddenly sharp. "You're wasting time, and I'm on a very tight schedule."

Severus stood unmoving until Weasley sighed and tried again. "You have nothing to lose by looking through the glasses. In fact, you have everything to gain."

Severus snorted, but after a moment he reached for the spectacles. Without a wand, his examination was limited, but he still looked them over carefully. Finally, his curiosity overwhelmed his suspicion. He gingerly held them up to his eyes and blinked in surprise.

Instead of Percy Weasley, he saw Hermione Granger.

"I told you things aren't always as they seem," she said. "The lenses are a prototype that Fred and George are developing. I knew you wouldn't take Percy's word if he claimed to be me, so I... borrowed them."

Severus lowered the spectacles. Once more, he was faced with Weasley. He lifted the glasses to his eyes and yet again he saw Granger. He studied her for a moment. It was apparent that the events of the past year had tempered her. Her eyes were harder, sharper, and there was a grim new set to her mouth.

"How am I to know that the lenses haven't been charmed to give the illusion of Miss Granger?" Severus asked.

She tilted her head. "In the summer before my fifth year, I was reading in the library at Grimmauld Place; you came in with Professor Dumbledore. He asked me to leave so that you two could talk. As I walked past, you glanced at the title of the book I was reading. It was _Esoteric Potions_. You said that I should stop trying to stuff useless knowledge into my head as there was nothing esoteric about any of the potions in that book. You were right, by the way. They were all variations of common potions."

He remembered the incident. She'd gaped up at him, all bushy hair and wounded dignity, before she'd scurried from the room. He handed the spectacles back to Granger and gestured toward Percy Weasley's body. "Polyjuice?"

She nodded. "So you can understand why I'd like to hurry this meeting along."

"You may want to hurry," Severus snapped, "but I have quite a few questions. You're the first person I've seen since my arrest who wasn't a Ministry official or a guard. Why are you here? Why not Lupin? He's the de facto head of the Order now, isn't he?" Even under these abominable conditions, Severus couldn't resist sneering.

"Yes, he is, but I'm the one who's here, so stop whinging," she shot back.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise at her audacity, but before he could verbally eviscerate her, she reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out an envelope and a small wooden box. She handed them over.

"There's a Portkey inside the box that will activate when you touch it," she said. "Do the guards usually check on you during the night?"

A Portkey? Anger and frustration crashed over him.

"No, the guards don't check on me," he snarled, "but it hardly matters. It's common knowledge that there are wards in place to prevent anyone from Apparating or using a Portkey on this island." He held up the box. "This is useless."

Granger sighed. "Professor Dumbledore helped design those wards. He's the one who prepared that Portkey. If the guards don't check on you during the night, that would be the best time to use it. There should be as much time as possible between your escape and the discovery of it."

"When did Albus prepare it?" Severus demanded.

"A few months before you-- Before he died." Granger's own frustration bled into her voice. "I'll explain everything once you're out of here, but I have to leave. You should put those out of sight."

"And if the Portkey doesn't work? Am I to be left here to rot?" Severus growled.

"If it doesn't work –- and it _will_ –- then I'll think of something else."

He took a step toward her, eyes narrowed. "That's no consolation to me. It's taken months to get this much accomplished."

"I've tried everything that I knew to get you out of here and nothing's worked," she protested. "I've been trying to get in to see you, but Scrimgeour blocked me at every turn." Her expression hardened. "However, if you don't like this option, feel free to ignore it and remain here."

Severus held up the envelope. "And this?"

"A letter from Professor Dumbledore."

Scowling, he silently folded the envelope in half and tucked it and the box under his blanket.

As soon as he flipped the blanket back into place, Granger was already calling out.

"Guard, I'm ready to leave."

Crilley was waiting on the other side of the door, and the sound of the key in the lock was instantaneous.

Granger glanced back at Severus and that same faint smile reappeared on Percy Weasley's face as Crilley tramped in and unlocked the cell.

"Goodbye, Mr. Snape," she said in Percy's voice. Ignoring Crilley completely, she swept down the corridor and out the door.

"Pompous prat," Crilley said, jerking his head toward the door through which Granger had departed.

Severus raised an eyebrow, but didn't reply.

Crilley glowered and slammed the cell door closed with a bang.

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Of all the interminable days that Severus had passed in Azkaban, this was by far the longest. From the time that he'd been locked inside the prison, he'd refused to allow himself hope; that way surely led to madness. But now the hope that he had so long suppressed unfurled, growing larger until it threatened to push the breath from his lungs.

He tried to look away from the corner of the blanket where the box and envelope were hidden, but it invariably drew his gaze like a magnet. The self-control that he'd exhibited in front of Voldemort during his days as a spy weakened at the tantalising prospect of freedom.

When the night guard brought the watery soup that passed for the prisoners' evening meal, Severus forced himself to calmly accept the bowl. In his mind's eye, the slight bunching of the blanket that hid the precious Portkey had grown to gargantuan proportions, unmistakable even to a dim-witted guard, but the man simply pushed the bowl through a gap in the bars and turned away.

The thought of eating made him nauseous, but as the minutes ticked by, the fear of discovery continued to grow in his mind. Would they notice if he didn't eat? Would it seem suspicious? He ate the soup and willed himself not to vomit.

He sat on his bed and stared into the deepening gloom until well after the guard had retrieved the empty bowl. Severus waited for even the slightest whisper of footsteps passing in the outer hallway. When all remained silent, he finally pushed the blanket aside to reveal the box and envelope.

He carried both to the barred window and carefully balanced the box on the small ledge. He opened the envelope and removed a letter written in Albus Dumbledore's distinctive hand and dated six weeks before the incident atop the Astronomy Tower. Severus squinted in the moonlight to read it.

_Severus,_

_As we both know, I expect events will soon to be out of my control, but rest assured that I've made arrangements in case our plans ultimately go awry. I can do little to shield you from Voldemort's whims, but I can make an effort to protect you from the vagaries of the Ministry. If you have received this missive, then my deepest concerns regarding Rufus Scrimgeour have been realised._

_In a perfect world, you would receive your own version of this medal. I hope that, in this imperfect world, you will accept mine as a substitute._

_These are difficult times and they have required that we both make difficult choices, but I am ever your friend. Forgive me for all that I've had to do, Severus, but most importantly, forgive yourself._

_Albus_

His chest tightened as he read the words, and Severus refolded the parchment, placing it in his pocket before he picked up the box. Opening the lid, he found Albus Dumbledore's Order of Merlin nestled on a bed of crimson satin and glittering in the moonlight.

Severus reached into the box and abruptly froze at the irrational certainty that the Portkey wouldn't work. It was a trick, he thought and his fingers clenched convulsively around the box. The letter and medal were forgeries, one last cruel taunt by--

By whom? That thought brought him up short. James Potter and Sirius Black were dead. Even Peter Pettigrew was dead at the Dark Lord's hand, and Remus Lupin, for all his numerous faults, had never actively participated in the pranks played by the others.

Severus forced himself to relax his hands. The Portkey would either work or it wouldn't; speculation was pointless. He took a deep breath and grasped the medal tightly.

As the Portkey activated, the last sound he heard in Azkaban Prison was his own ragged sigh of relief.

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He found himself standing on an unfamiliar road illuminated by Muggle streetlights. Even over the pounding of his heart, he could hear the rush of the ocean somewhere in the distance. The temperature was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and the gentle breeze carried the crisp scent of eucalyptus and the salty tang of the sea. He took a deep, greedy breath and looked around.

Directly before him was a small two-story house surrounded by a low stonework fence. A simple wooden gate stood open and steep stone steps climbed up to the house.

Granger sat at the top of the steps. "I told you it would work."

He snorted. He should have known that the first words out of her mouth would be some variation of I told you so.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Granger rose. "In Greece. Alikes, actually, just outside of Volos." She tilted her head toward the door of the house behind her. "I've already put the kettle on, and I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

He eyed the house with suspicion. "Who lives here?"

She smiled slightly. "You do."

Without another word, she turned and went into the house, leaving him to follow.

------------------------------

The house was comfortably furnished, albeit in brighter colours than he preferred. As was common in most wizarding homes, the house was much larger inside than it appeared from without. Severus followed Granger down a central hallway and found her in the kitchen, adjusting the heat under the teakettle.

"The house is Albus' doing?" he asked.

She nodded. "Professor Dumbledore wasn't just searching for information about the horcruxes during our last school year, he also bought this house and set up a new identity for you here in Greece. I've brought your identification papers and the deed to the house. They're on the counter over there, along with your wand." She pointed.

Severus' head snapped around, and he saw the papers stacked neatly on the laminate counter. Resting on the papers was his wand. Severus picked it up, relishing the feel of it in his hand, and gave it a tiny flick. A shower of multicoloured sparks flew from the tip.

"I'd thought the Ministry had broken this," Severus said. "How did you get it?"

"It was in an evidence lock-up at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A few weeks after you were arrested, Kingsley Shacklebolt mentioned seeing it there. Because of Percy's position as Scrimgeour's assistant, it was simply a matter of going in and asking for it."

Severus shot her an appraising look. "So Percy Weasley is to be your sacrificial lamb?"

"I'd hardly equate Percy with a lamb," she said dryly. "They'll give him Veritaserum or use Legilimency, and eventually they'll confirm that he didn't visit you in Azkaban or take your wand." Her lips twisted into a harsh smile. "It might do Percy good to be outside the Ministry's good graces for a change. Maybe he'll finally realise just how foolish he's been in choosing the Ministry over his family."

The teakettle began a stuttering whine.

"Why don't you sit down? I'll finish this while you look over the papers," she said briskly.

Before sitting at the small kitchen table, Severus cast a series of spells to clean the grime from his body and robes. It wouldn't replace a proper bath, but it would do for the moment.

He flipped through the papers and found a Muggle birth certificate, the deed to the house and property, and a Greek national identification card. A cropped picture that Severus recognised as having been taken at a staff Yule party scowled out from the centre of the card. He hadn't realised that it was possible to convert a wizarding photograph into a Muggle version.

"Stefan Sarris," he read aloud as Granger bustled around the kitchen.

She carried mugs of tea to the table. "He wanted the initials to be the same. Professor McGonagall was supposed to be the one to tell you about the house and give you the papers, but..." Her voice trailed away.

Severus gave a minute nod. "What happened after my arrest? The Auror refused to answer my questions. Scrimgeour came in later but said nothing except that I was to be confined to Azkaban."

Granger sat across from him. "The Aurors arrested everyone, not just you. They told us that Harry was d-- dead." She stumbled over the word. "But we didn't know until hours later that Professor McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody had also been killed."

She took a sip of tea, but when Severus said nothing, she continued.

"We were all in shock and Scrimgeour took advantage of it. The Aurors held us for twelve hours, and by the time we were released from custody, Scrimgeour had already issued his version of the events. He told the public that the Aurors defeated Voldemort; Harry was described as a "brave but tragic young man," and the Order members were relegated to "a rag-tag group of well-meaning bystanders." You were condemned outright as a Death Eater, with no mention of the years you spent spying for the Order or the reason that Professor Dumbledore died.

"We protested, but it did no good; Scrimgeour wouldn't even speak with us. We went to the _Daily Prophet_, but they didn't want to hear the truth. Things might have been different if we'd had someone to speak for us -- someone that the public truly respected -- but we didn't." She shook her head. "Scrimgeour is worse than Fudge. He's a liar, and people believe him."

"You seem surprised," Severus said. "The public have always been sheep, easily herded into an opinion. They want to believe that the Ministry is able to protect them. It's far more comforting than the truth."

Her lip curled in derision. "I hold Scrimgeour responsible for every unnecessary death that occurred that day. Those Aurors could have made all the difference during that battle, yet they didn't appear until after Voldemort was dead."

His eyes narrowed. "You believe they were instructed to wait?"

"Yes, but I can't prove it, and I'm not certain it would matter if I could. The public doesn't care," she said bitterly.

"So you're going to tuck tail and run? Where's that vaunted Gryffindor bravery?" He sneered, but the insult was mechanical. There was no bite in it; even Granger could see that.

"This has nothing to do with bravery," she answered. "I'm tired, and I've had enough. I promised Professor Dumbledore's portrait that I'd get you out of Azkaban, and I've done that."

"_You_ promised?" he echoed. He mentally reviewed her words in Azkaban; it had always been _I_, never _we_ or _us_. His jaw clenched. "The rest of the Order intended to abandon me?"

"No," she protested, but he glared at her and she sighed. "They never seemed to have a plan."

"Of course not," he said, his tone biting. "I'm sure that most of them would have preferred me dead, but since I didn't oblige, it suited them that I was in Azkaban. They were in no hurry to help me escape. Yet you promised Albus. Why?" He tilted his head and looked down his nose at Granger. "Surely you don't equate me with a house elf. As I recall, you tried to liberate them as well."

"If anyone knows how persuasive Professor Dumbledore can be, I'd think it would be you," she shot back.

He shrugged. "You've disregarded Albus before; you and your friends ignored him regularly when you were a student, usually to the detriment of everyone around you. Why not now?"

He watched her shift uncomfortably in her chair, and he was struck with the perverse need to shatter her forbearance. A small voice in his mind insisted that he let this go, that she could still have information he needed, but he couldn't seem to stop baiting her.

"You've always enjoyed playing Lady Bountiful, so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when you turned up dispensing Portkeys and plans for escape. Yet why would you agree to help the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore?"

"Killed," Granger corrected sharply. "Not murdered. There's a difference."

"Not for the rest of the Order and not for the Ministry." His tone turned brutal. "Albus is dead, no matter the reason."

"The reason matters very much," she insisted, a shrill edge creeping into her speech. "Sometimes people have to do things that they wouldn't normally do."

"I was a Death Eater bound by an Unbreakable Vow," he snapped. "I had two options: kill Albus or die myself. The choice was simple."

"No, it wasn't," she shot back. "We know Professor Dumbledore told you -– no, _ordered_ you –- to kill him if it came down to it, but even then it wasn't a simple choice. It couldn't be; he was your friend."

His eyes narrowed. "That has nothing to do with my question; why did _you_ help me?"

"Because--" She stopped abruptly and her hands curled into fists.

A thought occurred to him, and his smile was unpleasant. "All those years of watching Potter take the credit for your efforts must have been agonising. You were the one with the intelligence, yet it was Potter who received the praise. You were always an afterthought."

"That's not true!"

"This was your chance to be the heroine, wasn't it?" He sneered. "How typical that you didn't think it through; there'll be no accolades for helping me to escape from Azkaban."

"You think I'm doing this for accolades?" Her voice went flat. "If you haven't noticed, this isn't Hogwarts, and I don't have to take your insults any longer. I'm leaving."

She jumped up and stalked toward the front door.

Severus sighed. He knew he shouldn't have pushed her. He got up to follow.

"Miss Granger, wait."

She paused with her hand on the front door knob, her back to him.

"What?" she snapped.

He forced himself to soften his tone. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said those things. With the exception of Albus, it's been my experience that anyone who has helped me has wanted something in return. I'm unfamiliar with those who simply act from a generous nature."

She stiffened. "I'll be back in a few hours," she said finally. She didn't look back as she left.

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Severus wandered through the house, examining the rooms. In addition to the kitchen, there was a parlour and a small library. On the shelves there, he found several volumes he recognised as coming from Albus' personal collection. Albus had also copied most of the books from Severus' quarters at Hogwarts. He snorted softly when he saw that even the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky that he'd kept tucked between his copy of _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_ and _Aspergillius: 1001 Uses_ had been replicated.

A stairway next to the library led him down to a Potions laboratory in the basement. Albus had obviously wanted to be certain that he could earn a living; the room was large enough to house a small commercial brewing operation, with shelves of precisely stacked cauldrons, alembics, and other necessary equipment. A storage area off the main room held bottles and tins of preserved ingredients, and Severus automatically began making mental note of the fresh items he would need.

Above the sitting room was a large, comfortable bedroom with an adjoining bath. A tall wardrobe contained several new sets of robes, all black and serviceable. Severus wondered how Albus had been able to resist the temptation to brighten his clothing, and his question was answered when he opened one of the drawers. It was filled to the brim with new socks in various colourful hues, and not a black pair among the lot.

A locked chest sat at the bottom of the wardrobe. _Alohamora_ wouldn't open it, and after nearly a full recitation of all the sweets that Albus favoured, it finally clicked open to the words "Sugar Mice." His eyebrows shot up when he saw the galleons inside. While not enough to make him a rich man, there was certainly enough to tide him over until the potions business became self-supporting. This would be especially helpful since he'd never see the meagre contents of his Gringott's vault again.

Severus sat back on his heels and looked around the room purchased and provided by the man that he'd killed. Suddenly he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He fled down the stairs and out the rear door of the house.

The same rough stone wall surrounded the back garden and the scent of eucalyptus was much stronger there. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and Severus sat on the steps going into the house and mentally contrasted the light, airy house at his back with the dark dwelling of his childhood.

Every summer he'd left the comfort of Hogwarts and returned to Spinner's End to draw the past around him like a shroud. Albus had chided him to redecorate the house after his parents' deaths, but Severus hadn't seen the point. New curtains wouldn't change the past or make it pleasant, and fresh paint couldn't wipe away the bitterness of the life-altering choices he'd made while still a boy.

For all that she was a witch, his mother had found an odd sort of self-worth in being married, as if she required a husband at her side to prove her value. His father was a drunken bully who believed that having a wife gave him carte blanche to release his frustrations by beating her.

Severus' only escape from the tension-filled house had been visits to his maternal grandparents. Disgusted with their daughter's marriage to a Muggle, they'd refused to see her, but Severus was their only grandchild and after years of shunning both their daughter and her son, they'd relented and agreed to accept Severus, despite his tainted blood.

Once a week, his mother would Apparate with Severus to her parents' home, wipe his face and hands clean one last time, and wait until he'd knocked on their door before she Apparated away. Precisely four hours later, he would exit the house to find her waiting outside to Apparate him home.

It was in his grandfather's library that Severus discovered the Dark Arts texts that would shape his life. His grandfather, pleased that Severus was showing an interest in his magical heritage, encouraged him to read the books there and readily allowed his grandson the use of his wand to practice the spells he found.

By the time Severus arrived at Hogwarts, he'd been the recipient of weekly Dark Arts lessons for over five years.

Hogwarts had been a wondrous place for Severus, until his first taunting encounter with James Potter and Sirius Black. Then Hogwarts had turned into the same sort of nightmare that the house at Spinner's End represented. Over the years, the situation had been exacerbated by his growing, but unrequited, attraction for Lily Evans. That Lily had fallen for James Potter's dubious charms had devastated him.

Severus retained no illusions about his younger self. He had been an awkward, angry child who'd turned into an awkward, angry teenager. The first time he'd heard whispers in the Slytherin common room of a man named Lord Voldemort and of the influence and power that he could bestow, Severus was lost. He'd taken the Dark Mark as soon as he left Hogwarts.

In the beginning, he'd enjoyed what he perceived to be the prestige of being a Death Eater, and he'd been overwhelmingly flattered at being selected to spy on Albus Dumbledore. That the Dark Lord would trust him to such an important task filled him with pride.

But all that changed on the night that he was sent with a small group of fellow Death Eaters to murder Marlene McKinnon and her family. He hadn't been told why the Dark Lord wanted them dead, but had stood frozen while Travers and the Lestranges tortured the family to death. His fellow Death Eaters had been so intent on satisfying their bloodlust that they'd barely paid attention to him.

That night, he'd learned firsthand that a resentful teenager's arrogant vision of power was laughable in the face of the horrors of murder. He'd stared down at the lifeless bodies of what had once been a thriving family and the Dark Lord's promises of respect and admiration had withered to dust.

Sick and shaking, he'd gone to Dumbledore with a full confession. But instead of condemning him, Albus had offered him the chance of redemption and the potential of a new life.

And now here he was in a place that held no painful memories with that new life stretching before him. One final gift from Albus.

Severus settled more comfortably on the step and watched the eastern sky lighten. A thousand decisions lay before him, but for the moment, he was content to watch the first pink rays illuminate the horizon and mull over what to do about Granger.

His first instinct was to wait until she'd given him all the information from Albus' portrait, then Obliviate her, but he rejected that idea after only a moment's consideration. Albus had very neatly blocked that path. Short of killing her outright, he had only one option left to him, and he'd take care of that when she returned.

He frowned. Why was Granger returning? Perhaps she'd failed to carry out all of her instructions from Dumbledore's portrait.

Something nagged at the edges of his consciousness, but slipped away when he tried to examine it. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and the more firmly he grasped at the thought, the more elusive it became. Finally he simply turned his attention to the pleasures of watching the sunrise in freedom.

------------------------------

He managed a few hours sleep and Granger arrived just after he'd finished bathing and dressing, her arms full of shopping bags.

"I stopped at the market; I thought you'd be hungry." With that, she brushed past him and disappeared down the hallway toward the kitchen.

He frowned at her casual manner, but the promise of food made him disinclined to rebuke her at the moment.

Once again, he followed her to the kitchen. With a few efficient flicks of her wand, the shopping bags began to empty onto the counter while she started the skillet heating on the stove.

"There was no mention of you in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning," Granger said. "I was surprised, but then I realised that Scrimgeour doesn't want the public to know that you've escaped. It might call his abilities into question."

Her wand swished and eggs made their way to the skillet, broke neatly and began to fry. With few flicks, bacon and sausages started to grill and bread went into the oven for toast.

"If you asked to visit me in Azkaban, you'll have to expect to be questioned at some point and quite probably watched," he said.

She nodded. "Yes, I've thought of that. I made certain that I wasn't followed this morning, and the spectacles are already safely back in Fred and George's workroom. As for the preparation, I brewed the Polyjuice in my old bedroom at my parents' home, and I purchased the ingredients from several different apothecaries."

"Where did you get the hairs for the Polyjuice?"

"From Percy's hairbrush. I took them weeks ago." She gave a brief smirk. "You'd think that having a brother who's a Curse-Breaker would encourage him to have better wards on his flat."

Severus raised an eyebrow at the implication of burglary. "Your concepts of right and wrong have always been amazingly fluid."

Her eyes narrowed, and he held up a hand to stop her protest. "That wasn't a criticism," he said. "It can be a useful trait."

"Oh." She was flustered for a moment and then changed the subject. "I spoke to Professor Dumbledore's portrait this morning. He's very pleased and said to enjoy the socks, whatever that means."

Severus snorted softly at that, but didn't explain. "You've been to Hogwarts?"

"Not in months." Granger's brow furrowed and then cleared. "Oh, that's right, you don't know. Professor Dumbledore's brother had a second portrait that no one knew about until after the memorial service; he's been kind enough to allow the Order to keep it."

She made a series of flicks and swishes, and the eggs turned and sliced tomatoes were added to the grill.

She looked at him evenly. "The portrait also said that it's probably occurred to you to Oblivate me, but that he wouldn't recommend it. While my memory can be erased, it's not possible to Oblivate a portrait."

"I hadn't thought anything of the sort." Severus managed to appear offended. "I think it wise, however, that we invoke the Fidelius Charm. You will act as my Secret Keeper."

She looked surprised. "I'd have thought that you'd prefer Draco Malfoy or his mother. We'd heard that they'd escaped to France."

Severus shook his head. "Threaten either Draco or Narcissa and the other wouldn't hesitate to reveal my new identity and location. No, you're by far the better choice. You already have an incentive to keep quiet. If I'm captured, you're captured, too, after all. Scrimgeour would take a dim view of anyone who engineers an escape from Azkaban."

She nodded. "I've read about the Fidelius Charm, but I've never cast it."

"Then it's fortunate that I have," he replied.

------------------------------

After invoking the Fidelius Charm, Granger seemed to subtly relax, as if it was proof that he trusted her. He didn't point out that he had no real choice. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said that Narcissa and Draco would turn over his secrets if threatened. The Malfoy loyalty was fierce but extended only to their immediate family.

Breakfast was delicious, although he wasn't certain if that was because food was truly good or because he hadn't had a decent meal in months. At any rate, they ate in silence for the most part.

Finally, he tucked away the last bite on his plate and cast her an appraising glance. "What did the Order say about your actions?"

She levitated the dishes into the sink. "I haven't told them yet."

"Not even Ron Weasley?" he asked, surprised.

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Ron and I aren't as close as we once were. I don't think either of us realised how much we depended on Harry to act as a buffer between us. Even before Harry's death, we had some fundamental differences of opinion. And after..." A shadow crossed her face. "It only grew worse. He's seeing Luna Lovegood now; they seem very happy together."

Severus had no interest in Weasley's romantic entanglements and he steered the conversation back to the Order. He knew he should leave the topic alone. He'd been reviled far too long not to know exactly what they thought of him, but they'd _abandoned_ him, and some part of him wanted to continue picking at it, like a scab over a poorly healed wound.

"Why did the Order choose to ignore Albus' wishes and leave me in Azkaban?"

"I didn't ask." Her expression shuttered.

His eyebrows shot up. Granger failing to ask a question? Something was very wrong.

"They simply stated that they planned to leave me in Azkaban and gave no explanation?" His disbelief was clear.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. "That was never said outright, but it was obvious they never made any plans to get you out."

He gritted his teeth. "Obvious in what way?"

She folded her arms and all but rolled her eyes. "Because they would have told me if they did."

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hex her. "You arrogant twit. Did it never occur to you that perhaps their plans didn't include you? Contrary to what you seem to believe, you're not the centre of the universe."

She recoiled, stung. "Professor Dumbledore's portrait would have known if they had a plan that didn't include me. He wouldn't have asked me to help you if there'd been another way."

"Are you certain? You didn't know Albus as well as you think. He had no problem moving events forward if they weren't happening as quickly he wanted," Severus snapped. He was silent for a moment, following a train of thought. "Still, Albus wouldn't have sent you if he'd had the benefit of more experienced Order members--"

"You see?" Granger interjected.

"--unless it suited his purpose," Severus finished. "I can readily imagine that Shacklebolt and Tonks, along with majority of the Weasleys, would happily leave me in Azkaban, but not Arthur. His sense of loyalty to Albus was too strong for that. And Lupin, for all his endless dithering, would feel honour-bound to carry out Albus' wishes." Severus narrowed his eyes. "Those two would have agreed, however reluctantly, and the rest of the Order would have followed them."

"You think so?" Granger glared at him. "I was there, remember? Even after Professor Dumbledore's portrait explained what had happened, even after they'd viewed the Pensieve, the Order didn't _do_ anything."

He ignored her outburst. "Yet for some reason, Albus selected you. Not Arthur and not Lupin, _you_. Yesterday, I asked why you'd agreed to help me, but that was the wrong question; the more telling question is why did Albus select you?"

"Haven't you been listening? They didn't _do_ anything," she spat out. "They sat around Molly's kitchen table, drinking tea and feeling smug. Every other sentence out of their mouths was some variation of what they would have done in your place."

Granger mimicked nodding down the table at an imaginary audience. "_I_ would have done this or _I_ would have done that. _I_ would never harm someone that I cared about, not for _any_ reason."

She made a disgusted noise. "It didn't accomplish anything; they have no idea what they would have done. The world isn't black and white, no matter how much they want it to be."

"And you believe your years as a schoolgirl have taught you to distinguish the shades of grey?" He didn't bother to hide his contempt.

She met his eyes, defiant. "At least I understood."

He shot to his feet to prevent himself from physically yanking her across the table and throttling her.

"What book did you read that made you capable of understanding what it's like to kill a friend? To look into his eyes and know that by conceding to his wishes, you'll destroy your entire world? Just what, in your vast array of experience, made you capable of understanding that?"

Granger rose to face him; guilt, self-loathing, and rage mingled on her face, blended into the same poisonous expression he'd seen staring back from his own mirror for years.

"Because Harry asked me to promise, too," she snarled. "Harry asked me to promise to kill him, too."

Her face had gone chalky white and she was trembling violently, but it was as if a dam had burst and her words tumbled out one after another.

"Harry wanted both of us to promise, but Ron wouldn't. Then after Harry died, Ron and I had a horrible row over it, and everybody in the Order heard. Ginny won't even speak to me now. Some of them look at me as if I've disappointed them; they don't _say_ that, but I can _see_ it. Harry was depending on me; can't they understand that? How was I to say no?"

Surprised, he stood staring at her, his anger momentarily forgotten. It was apparent now that her brisk manner had been nothing more than a brittle shell webbed with fissures and one wrong word might send her flying into pieces.

He drew himself up into his best schoolmaster stance and pointed to her chair. "Sit down, Miss Granger."

As he'd hoped, years of conditioning to defer to authority took over and she sat.

"Wait here," he said and went to the library to retrieve the bottle of firewhiskey.

When he returned to the kitchen, her eyes had a glassy sheen and she was still trembling, hands clasped tightly together, resting on the tabletop.

He took two glasses from the cupboard, poured a healthy shot of whisky into each, and placed one in front of her.

"Drink it all down at once. You'll feel better," he said.

Her nose crinkled at the smell, but she drained the glass, then shuddered.

"That's awful," she gasped.

"It's an acquired taste," he said, keeping his tone neutral.

He sipped at his whiskey and waited until she'd stopped trembling and there was a pale tinge of pink to her cheeks.

"Now explain to me why Potter would ask such a thing of you?" he asked quietly.

She shifted in her chair and tilted her glass back and forth, watching as it caught the light, keeping her gaze fixed on it as she spoke. "There was a time when we couldn't find the last horcrux. We didn't even know where to look. Harry began to believe that Voldemort had made him into a horcrux when he killed his parents."

Before Severus could stop himself, he snorted. "What an idiotic assumption; the Dark Lord intended to murder him. If Potter was a horcrux, the Dark Lord would have kept him alive at any cost."

He tensed, expecting her to explode, but oddly enough, she relaxed slightly at that and even risked a glance up at him.

"I told Harry the same thing," she said, "but he wasn't convinced. He had a dream in which he killed Voldemort, but was taken over immediately--'

"A dream or a vision?" Severus interrupted.

"Harry said it was only a dream, but the possibility terrified him. He knew that if he was a horcrux that he couldn't be allowed to live after Voldemort was killed, so he came to Ron and me privately. He wanted us to promise--"

She flinched when the glass slipped through her fingers and hit the table with a dull thump.

"He wanted us to promise that we'd kill him if necessary," she continued. "Ron was horrified. He wouldn't even listen; he just stormed out of the room. Harry was furious at that, but it made him all the more determined to convince me. I told him that I didn't want to do it, that I didn't know if I _could_, but Harry was frantic. He said that he knew it was an awful thing to ask, but that he was depending on me, that _everyone_ would be depending on me. All I could think was that what if Harry was right? What if Voldemort lived because I didn't want to believe Harry? So I promised. I've never felt so sick as I did that day."

She shuddered. "As it turned out, it was a moot point. The last horcrux was Rowena Ravenclaw's inkwell; we found it in the rubble at Godric's Hollow and destroyed it. But when Harry made me promise, that was the first time that I truly understood what Professor Dumbledore had asked of you."

For a blinding instant, Severus was furious. An unfulfilled promise to Potter didn't make her capable of understanding him or his reasons for acting as he'd done. He neither wanted nor needed her sympathy. Yet as quickly as his anger flared, it subsided, and he finished his whisky in one swallow.

Now he knew why Albus' portrait had selected her and not the others. Severus was expected to help Granger and thus help himself in the process. The plan had all the subtlety of being struck between the eyes with a bludger.

He looked into his empty glass and for the briefest of moments, he considered killing her outright. The Fidelius Charm would fix at her death and not even portraits were immune to it. However, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he rejected it. He had no wish to kill again, and he suspected that if anyone could manage to exempt their portrait from the constraints of a Fidelius Charm, it would have been Albus.

Resigned to his fate, he poured more whisky into his glass, then looked Granger over. Her hands were steady, but she was still too pale and had a pinched look around her mouth. He splashed a bit more whisky into her glass, as well.

"Sip it this time," he instructed. "I presume your promise to Potter was one of the "fundamental differences of opinion" that you had with Weasley?"

She nodded and her relief in being able to talk about the situation was palpable. "Ron didn't ask about it until weeks after Harry died. Then one afternoon we were talking about Harry and Professor Dumbledore, and Ron wanted to know what had happened when he'd left the room that night, so I told him.

"We had a terrible row over it. I tried to explain, but he didn't understand how I could be willing to do such a thing. He was shouting and people overheard... And then everybody knew." She swallowed hard. "Some of them understood -- Arthur and Remus, and Bill, too, I think -- but the rest..." Her voice trailed away.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You should have lied to Weasley."

"He was my best friend. I thought I could tell him the truth," she protested.

He shook his head. "There are two kinds of people: those who are able to do the distasteful things of life, and those who criticise them. The latter group may be well meaning, but they're inevitably self-righteous and they rarely want to know the truth about anything."

She worked out the implication. "You think Ron didn't promise because he knew he couldn't do it?" she asked, but before he could answer, she was blurting out her real question. "Do you think _I_ could have done it?"

She was so transparent, her thoughts shifting across her face in a rapid flicker of emotion. She deeply dreaded his answer and wavered between the fear that he'd declare her capable of murder or pronounce her incompetent. She'd be miserable with either answer, and he mentally cursed Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in equal measure for putting him into this situation.

He sighed and spread his hands. "I think you should get on with your life and be grateful that you didn't have to learn the answer to that question firsthand."

Her frustration was clear. "You're evading the question."

It was his turn to be frustrated. "I can't answer because I don't know. No one is certain of what he'll do until the moment is upon him. It's easy, as you said, to sit at a kitchen table and declare what you'd do. It's more difficult to actually do it. I expect you'd have done what you had to do."

She was silent for a moment. "That's what happened on the Astronomy Tower, wasn't it? You did what you had to do."

He froze. He'd thought to avoid this, and he was already pushing himself up to stand and walk away from her, but he stopped. He supposed the conversation had been inevitable since she'd turned up in his cell at Azkaban.

"I'll discuss that with you once," he said, his voice cold. "Then you will never ask me about it again. Do you understand?"

She took a quick breath and opened her mouth to protest, but then subsided. "I understand."

He nodded sharply. "By the time it became clear that Draco intended to kill Albus, I'd already taken an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa. At that point, Albus knew that he was dying and wanted, if possible, to use his death to protect Draco and to secure my place amongst the Death Eaters."

"And you agreed with him?" she asked.

"No, but Albus was pragmatic. He wanted his death to serve a purpose, and I owed him everything. Even with that debt, I considered disobeying him, but when I arrived on the Astronomy Tower that night, Albus was very ill and surrounded by Death Eaters." Severus grimaced. "And Fenrir Greyback was there.

"Greyback had embraced his animalistic qualities so completely that he no longer needed the full moon to act as a werewolf, and he'd developed a taste for eating his victims alive. He preferred children, but any human flesh would do. He particularly enjoyed keeping his prey conscious for as long as possible while he tore them to pieces and devoured them."

Severus blinked, and for a split second, he was fifteen again and running in blind terror down a dark tunnel, a slavering werewolf snarling at his back. Another blink and the tunnel was gone.

"Draco had faltered in his task, and Greyback was inching closer. Death would have been an escape for me, but what of Albus? How could I leave him to be eaten alive?"

Even he could hear the emotion filtering into his voice, and to his surprise, she lightly placed her hand over his.

"You couldn't," she said softly. "You couldn't leave him to that."

He stiffened and jerked his hand away from her, then stood so abruptly that his chair rocked in place as he bolted from the room.

He roamed the house in an effort to get his emotions under control. He was angry with himself and with her. It was bad enough that he was vulnerable, but to allow her to see it was inexcusable.

He lingered in the small library, running his fingers over the books. He was still tired, he reminded himself. Azkaban had taken a toll, and he'd been thrust into a new life and left to the mercies of a former student. That must be the reasons for his lapses. After he was adequately rested and had adjusted to this new situation, things would be back under control.

Reassured somewhat, he returned to the kitchen to find the sink filled with soapy water and a charmed scrub brush thoroughly washing the used dishes and cutlery.

He braced himself for a flood of sympathy or reassurances and was surprised when Hermione simply glanced at him and returned her attention to the dishes. She ended the charm that was cleaning the dishes and set them to rinsing and stacking on the draining board, then tucked her wand into her pocket.

Her back was to him when she spoke. "Will you tell me about Harry? Scrimgeour said that it was Bellatrix Lestrange who killed him." Hermione hesitated and gripped the edge of the sink tightly. "She enjoyed using the Cruciatus Curse. Did she torture him first?"

Her voice was calm, but Severus saw her fingers turn white as her grip tightened.

"No, she didn't," he answered. "It was over in an instant."

Her hands relaxed and she turned toward him, leaning against the counter. He noted that her colour was back to normal, and she wasn't shaking any longer.

"Neville wanted to be the one to capture her, you know," Hermione said. "Because of his parents."

"You mean he wanted to kill her."

Hermione winced but gave a small shrug. "Maybe. Neville truly hates her."

"It's doubtful that Longbottom would have survived facing Bellatrix. A mistake against her is usually fatal. She's unforgiving and completely ruthless."

"You mean she's insane," Hermione said flatly.

Severus shrugged slightly. "In the manner of a true fanatic, yes, but not in the traditional sense. Bellatrix has never been particularly bright, but she's cunning." He snorted. "She was a thorn in my side for years."

Hermione was clearly curious. "She didn't trust you?" she guessed.

"Bellatrix tried to undermine anyone she perceived to be higher favour with the Dark Lord. However, her distrust of me was responsible for a great deal of damage." His eyes narrowed. "I could have avoided taking the Unbreakable Vow if not for her. Narcissa was desperate enough to forego it, but Bellatrix was determined to prove me disloyal and she forced my hand."

Severus unconsciously scowled. While the Dark Lord was ultimately responsible for the chain of events that led to Albus' death, Bellatrix also had a great deal for which to answer. She'd attempted to thwart him at every turn. She'd taught Occlumency to Draco, closing the boy's mind to him. She'd goaded him regarding the Unbreakable Vow, and he had no doubt that it was Bellatrix who'd put the notion into Narcissa's head in the first place.

Every event in his life during the past year carried the taint of Bellatrix's manipulations. Azkaban, as bad as it was, was too good for her.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to Hermione. "As we're asking questions, what happened when Potter faced the Dark Lord?"

A shadow passed over Hermione's face. "I don't know for sure. No one does now. Ron and I had just managed to get Greyback Stunned, and when we turned around, Harry had used the killing curse. Voldemort looked... blank, as if he was empty, and he fell. Then it was just us standing there."

"You're certain that it was Potter?" Severus asked. "There was no remnant of the Dark Lord?"

"I'm certain," she said firmly. "I looked into his eyes, and it was Harry. _Just_ Harry. I have no doubt about that."

Severus nodded slightly, hesitating over his next question. Perhaps she wouldn't answer, but he wanted to know. "Potter said something to you after he killed the Dark Lord, something that made you laugh. What was it?"

Hermione's bottom lip wobbled. "He said, 'Do you think everyone will stop bothering me now?'" Tears slipped down her cheeks. "Excuse me," she whispered. Then she fled out the back door and into the garden.

He didn't follow her. He never knew what to say to a crying woman, and he doubted that he could offer her any comfort. Potter was dead; nothing he said would change that fact or make it any easier to bear.

He felt a bit foolish, asking Hermione if she was certain that it had been Potter left standing on that battlefield. He'd _known_ the boy hadn't been a horcrux, even the possibility was ludicrous, but the tiniest doubt had still remained and so he'd had to ask.

Severus went still at that thought. He'd _had_ to ask.

He smiled.

------------------------------

The house was set on a hillside, giving a view of the sea below. The scene was broken in places by overgrown evergreen shrubs and eucalyptus, but it was still quite beautiful.

Hermione stood looking out over the ocean, and he took a long meandering route to her side, giving her time to note his approach. He saw that someone had once tried their hand at an herb garden, and there were remnants of rosemary, oregano and basil. Common mallow and tree medick were in abundance, along with mullein and wormwood. With a bit of work, he had the beginnings of an excellent potions garden.

He finally reached her side and they stood in silence for a time, watching the seabirds glide and swoop in the sunlight.

Hermione still hadn't given a reason for returning this morning, but Severus suspected that if asked, she'd have only the flimsiest of excuses. It was clear that she'd returned in order to talk to him. Bound to Potter by a promise equal to the one he'd made to Albus and feeling the displeasure of the Order, she'd decided that he was the only one who could understand her. As odd as it seemed, perhaps he was.

Severus gave her a speculative look. She wasn't a child any longer. Perhaps she could be made to understand him, as well.

He cleared his throat. "I'd like you to write to Bellatrix in Azkaban."

"What?" Hermione looked startled. "Why?"

"Because while the Death Eaters knew the Dark Lord had created horcruxes, he was too distrustful to confide which items housed those parts of his soul."

"And?" Her eyes narrowed.

"And I want Bellatrix to know there was a possibility that the very last bit of the Dark Lord's soul resided in Potter when she killed him," Severus answered.

"But you agreed that wasn't possible." Alarm edged her voice.

"It wasn't," he said. "Nevertheless a small doubt lingered in my mind, which is why I asked if you were certain that it was Potter." He tilted his head. "If _I_ doubted, Bellatrix will doubt."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "You want to drive her insane. That's what will happen, you know. She'll drive herself mad thinking that she might be responsible for Voldemort's death."

Severus looked at her evenly. "Yes."

Her mouth tightened. "That's a very cruel thing to do. She's in Azkaban, surely that's punishment enough?"

"Is it? Bellatrix was sentenced to life imprisonment for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity, but she didn't stay imprisoned. Were those few years she spent in Azkaban punishment enough for what she did to them?"

Severus raised an eyebrow and waited. He knew the Hermione Granger who tossed Delores Umbridge to the centaurs was in there somewhere.

"No, but..." Hermione's voice trailed away, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. "If -- and I want to stress that word -- _if_ a letter is sent at all, it really should be written by Neville. His parents--"

"His parents are exactly why she would never believe him," Severus interrupted. "She'd dismiss it as a lie designed to extract revenge."

"Which it _is_." Hermione pointed out, exasperated. "She has no reason to believe me, either."

"Not immediately," he agreed. "But Bellatrix knows that you were one of Potter's closest friends, that he told you everything. The longer she dwells on it, the more credible your claim will become."

He moved to face Hermione. "Bellatrix was never tried for the majority of her crimes. I could make a list of her victims, but it would be sadly incomplete; I never knew some of their names. But what of your friend Potter? What of Albus? Without that Unbreakable Vow everything would have been different."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest and gave him a stony look. "That's the real reason you want the letter sent."

"Does it matter? You claimed to understand even when the Order couldn't. Was that a lie?"

Her expression softened. "No, it wasn't. I'm just not certain about sending that letter."

Severus knew he had little to recommend him physically to women. He wasn't attractive. His nose was too big, his hair too oily and his teeth too crooked, but his voice was another thing altogether.

He took a step closer and dropped his voice to its most silken register. "It's understandable that you might hesitate, but think, Hermione, you'd have justice for every despicable act Bellatrix has ever committed, and all you have to do is write a single letter."

Startled, Hermione looked up at him, her eyes suddenly huge.

He shifted his weight, subtly leaning closer to her.

"It... It would still be an awful thing to do," she stammered.

He kept his tone low and intimate. "Perhaps, but it's nothing more than she deserves. All I can ask is that you consider it."

She looked positively gobsmacked. "Well, I suppose I could think about it."

"Yes, you do that." He suppressed a smile as a faint blush rose in her cheeks.

He held her gaze for a long moment and then slowly stepped back.

Hermione blinked and took a deep breath. "Um, I really should be going. I'm sure you have lots to do." Her tone was brisk, but she fumbled in her pocket as she pulled out a piece of paper. "I begin work for the magical section of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina next week, and I've taken a flat in Alexandria." She handed him the paper. "Here's the address in case you need to contact me."

Just as he took the paper, she blinked at him in surprise. "You called me Hermione. Does that mean that I'm to call you Severus now?"

"No," he said. He waited until her mouth opened in protest before he finished. "My name is Stefan now."

She smiled widely. "Then good luck, _Stefan_, and I'll think about the letter." Still smiling, she Apparated away.

As soon as she was gone, he crumpled the paper and tossed it to the sandy soil at his feet. There was no reason to keep it. She'd send the letter or not, and if she did sent it, he had no doubt that she'd turn up to tell him about it. With a practised flick of his wand, he said, "Incend--" and then stopped.

Overall, she really hadn't been too annoying, and while the topics discussed were somewhat painful, there'd been a very appealing quality to talking with someone who knew the truth and didn't judge.

Severus murmured "Accio, paper," and the crumpled address flew back into his hand. He carefully smoothed out the wrinkles and placed it into his pocket.

Perhaps he would visit Hermione in a week or so. Besides, with a bit of conversation and the judicious application of firewhiskey, he was certain that he could not only convince her to write that letter, she'd allow him to dictate it.

Smiling faintly, Severus took a deep breath of the clean salt air, and walked into his new home.

------------------------------

Author's Note: Shiv5468 requested a drabble that gave her "hope for SS/HG." It quickly ceased to be a drabble, and I tried very hard to be true to HBP canon and still manage the hope part of the request. My own hope is that I've succeeded.

Thanks to shadowycat, kaitkaitkait, and knight0fswords for their general nudges, beta services, Brit-picking, and discussions regarding a proper breakfast. ;)


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